


weak

by knox (booyouwhoran)



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, a new low, but also...i love my drag wives, wow can u believe i'm writing ot3 rpf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-11-28 06:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11412609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booyouwhoran/pseuds/knox
Summary: Because Trixie knows that Katya makes him better. He wonders how Katya makes Violet better. He wonders if he could, if he would.Or, Violet shows up at Trixie's apartment with a suitcase full of pasties and no explanation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm writing polyamorous RPF involving two people that are gently antagonistic at best. Basically I live for Trixie/Katya and also Katya/Violet and with the recent social media resurgence of vixie friendship...this happened. Write the fic you want to see in the world. 
> 
> Pronouns as follows - Trixie: he, Katya: she, Violet: they
> 
> This fic is going to be chaptered (:0), with one chapter from each queens perspective. Feel free to come yell at me @ wevsley on tumblr! Also published on artificial queens
> 
> title from weak by AJR, which is kind of a Mood

Here’s the thing. It’s like…Katya’s always there. Katya’s always been there, when they’re filming or just hanging out or when Trixie’s upset and it’s good and it’s nice and Trixie’s so fucking grateful to have a friend like that, that just gets him and his drag and his humour. But behind all that compatibility is the knowledge that they could never work romantically, just the two of them. There’s too much – too much platonic reliance, too much energy and love that’s different to romantic love for them to be able sustain it. And Trixie loves Katya, she’s his best friend and he loves Brian, too and he loves them together and how people respond to them, has loved her since the first week of drag race. Trixie doesn’t think he can love anyone like he loves Katya. But it’s not enough, really, on its own. Because there’s the Trixie and Katya dynamic, and the Brian and Brian dynamic, but there’s also the Katya and Violet dynamic. It’s kind of been there under the surface forever. He remembers after BOTS, after the fucking Philly show when his mentions were full of fans tweeting him about it. After that he’d called her. She’d called him Tracy, and informed him that Violet Chachki was the best ass she’d ever eaten. The whole interaction had left him an odd sort of combination of hollow and turned on. And, like, he knew. He knew that they’d had sex. It was painfully obvious by that point and Katya like, liked Violet. The whole situation had left him confused and jealous, but not sure who he was jealous of. 

The thing about Violet was that she was a cunt. But Jason – well, Jason was also a cunt, but Trixie liked them. Quite a lot, actually. He liked the way that Violet would sometimes text him a screenshot of unhhh, or whatever, usually an unflattering picture of him and give it a bitchy caption. ‘Heard of a beauty blender, Tracy?’ Trixie would read it, roll his eyes, and ignore it, or send them back an equally bitchy reply. Violet never replied to these. Trixie didn’t mind, really. But even more confusing was the occasional text he got that wasn’t quite Violet-brand bitchy. Sometimes Violet would send him a mirror selfie before a show. He knew it was more for their own gratification than his, and he didn’t reply. Sometimes, they would send him a picture of whatever city they were touring in. He didn’t reply to these, either, because he didn’t know quite how. 

So yeah, Trixie’s kind of confused, and when Violet shows up in LA in full drag with suitcase full of wigs and pasties, he has no other option to let them into his living room. 

“I’m concerned that you know my address.”

Violet rolls their eyes and steps inside his living room. Trixie’s weirdly glad he cleaned. This relief is abruptly replaced with annoyance as Violet collapses on his couch, leaving their luggage outside. 

‘Don’t worry, Tracy. I texted Katya. She gave me your address, and then instructions not to damage your guitars, bed, or soul.’ 

Trixie huffs as he heaves Violet’s suitcase into the room. Instead of thanking him like any civilised human being, Violet looks up from where they’re painting their nails with a bottle of pink polish Trixie has left on the coffee table and ponders him.  
“So, what’s for dinner?”  
“Oh, fuck you”. 

******** 

They go to Olive Garden. Violet isn’t impressed (“Bitch! You could’ve at least taken me to Red Lobster.”)

They look ridiculous, frankly. Violet’s still in full drag, scrolling through twitter as they chew on a breadstick, while Trixie’s embodying his classic mid western dad style, complete with trucker cap. 

“So, not to point out the obvious, but why are you here? And why the fuck did you decide my apartment was the place to come?”

Violet looks up from their phone and gives Trixie a searching look, then shrugs one shoulder. 

“You know I live to mildly irritate you”. They swallow the last of their breadstick. “And you know how touring is. Needed to crash somewhere for a bit.”

“And you thought my apartment was the place to do it?”

Because beside from the confusing texts, it’s not like him and Violet really talk. When they’re together it’s cool and it’s fun and it’s Violet, pissing him off and making him think as always, but he’s not Katya. He doesn’t know them like Katya knows them.

“Well, it was you or Katya.”

“And why not Katya?”

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, and if Trixie didn’t know them better, he’d say Violet coloured, just a tiny bit. Then Violet shrugs a shoulder.

“Bitch, you know what her fucking apartment’s like. I could fucking, like, drown there and no one would realise.”

Trixie huffs a laugh at this. It’s not the whole truth, he knows, but he’s seeing Katya tomorrow and he’ll figure it out. Then, Violet takes it as their liberty to order them both a glass of wine when their meals arrive, and he takes a breath and goes with it. 

******************************************************************************** 

‘Bitch!’ Violet squawks, looping a skinny arm around his next and attempting half heartedly to clamber onto his back. They’re at a shit bar he’s never been to. There’s something about Violet that makes him want to do stupid shit. Like currently, where they’ve drunk half a bottle of tequila each and Violet is demanding a piggy back. 

“Fuck you, cunt, there’s going to be pictures of this all over fucking reddit or whatever.”

He hoists Violet fully onto his back, and they’re so small and it’s weird, actually, and Violet has their arms looped round the front of his chest and Trixie wonders, quietly, if Violet can tell he’s been working out, if they’ve been following the Trixie Mattel fitness journey. Violet lazily grabs his hat and slings it onto their head. 

“You’re messing with my aesthetic, Chachki.”

“Fuck off Brian. You look more like an ageing dad than Katya out of drag”.

“Okay, A) I’m like fucking the same age as you and B) people love they way I dress. There’s an instagram dedicated to it.”

“Whatever, loser,” Violet slurs, and Brian feels them slip slightly off his back. They’re both so fucking gone he realises suddenly, more drunk than he’s been in, well, years. Fitness journeys don’t really leave a lot of room for drunken encounters with ex-frenemies-kind-of-friends-that-send-confusing-texts-and-show-up-at-your-apartment-uninvited. Trixie shakes his head as Violet shoves a phone in his face. It’s possibly the worst selfie ever, almost enough to sober him up. He shakes Violet off, who drops to the ground with a surprising level of grace.

“Don’t get your tuck in a twist, it’s just to Katya.”

They stand there for a moment, and Trixie wonders if this is the time to ask them about the texts and the showing up thing and whether they’re going to have sex after three years of wondering when Violet’s phone beeps.

It’s a text from Katya.  
You pair of dumb whores. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.  
Another text pings through immediately  
Actually, that’s the worst advice ever. Do everything I wouldn’t do. And if a man from Colorado named Steve invites you into the backseat of his van, say yes. 

“So fucking weird,” Violet mumbles, and Trixie nods.

Because the thing is, Violet and Trixie both know what it’s like to love Katya. And, Trixie thinks, they both know that the other person knows. There are lines of light connecting the two of them to her. Trixie thinks he can maybe seen another line, slightly less bright, developing between him and Violet. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Because Katya makes Trixie better. He’s said it before and he’ll say it again. They make each other funnier, they make each other even more likeable. But Katya also makes him kinder, makes him think about things that he would’ve never considered.

He wonders how Katya makes Violet better. He wonders if he could, if he would.

“Come on public school. It’s bedtime”.

Violet nods, and they hail a taxi and sit next to each other in the back seat. Violet’s shoulder bumps his, occasionally, as they text or tweet or whatever it is that they do. They stumble into the apartment together. Trixie throws Violet one of his merch shirts to sleep in, and a makeup wipe. It feels weirdly intimate to see Violet become Jason, even though he’s seen it so many times. He goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and give himself a pep talk in the mirror. You will not make a move on Violet Chachki. You will go to bed like a normal person, and if you have to jerk off furiously in the morning, so be it. When he returns, Violet’s in his fucking bed, the bitch, de-dragged and swallowed in his shirt.

“You’re on my side.”

Violet, Jason, whatever, rolls their eyes but budges over.

“If I wake up to your dick against my ass, I will have you arrested,” Trixie informs them.

Despite the dark, he feels Violet’s eyeroll.

“Calm down, Tracy. You wish.”

Trixie snorts.

All in all, this could be worse.

**** 

When Trixie wakes up, it takes him a moment to figure out why there’s a body pressed against his back. Violet Chachki, secret spooner, he smirks to himself. Then, he heaves himself into the shower shaking off the mirage of a hangover. Afterwards, he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and starts cooking them both breakfast. It’s terrible, really, that this is for Violet of all people. He’s huffing slightly at his own ridiculousness when his door bangs open.

“TRIXIE! Okay, Trixie, so I had this idea for an episode, what if we like, found a heap of conspiracy theories online and then – wait, why are you cooking?”

Katya’s standing in front of him in a pair of jeans and a horrendous yellow t-shirt. It works, weirdly, and Trixie’s kind of mad. Before he can answer, Violet emerges from the bedroom, still clad in an oversized Trixie merch t-shirt. They stare at each other for a second before Violet slinks over, pecks Katya on the cheek and grabs a piece of toast from the plate in front of Trixie.

“Where’s the butter, Firkus?”

“Fridge, asshole. Where the fuck else would I keep butter?”

“Actually, darling,’ Katya drawls in a thick Russian accent. “In Russia, it is so cold that we keep the butter on counter. Good as fridge.”

“I despise you both,” Trixie shakes her head. “Who wants eggs?”

And just like that it’s fine, it’s almost normal and it’s weird, it’s so weird. He always has a good time with Katya, but Violet? Violet’s currently explaining to Katya how to uncork a champagne bottle without using any hands and Katya’s cackling and it’s nice, seeing them together. Trixie still feels a flair of antagonism, of mild irritation that he’s not sure will ever fully dissipate. But there’s something nice about seeing the two of them together. He’s just not quite sure where he fits into the grand, odd, Violet and Katya friendship that’s maybe friends with benefits that’s maybe more. It’s a headache standing right in front of him, eating eggs out of a frying pan, one hip pressed against his kitchen counter, smile playing on their lips. It’s a heartache grinning at him now, calling him up at four in the morning to tell him about a film she’s just seen, or rambling to him about politics when he’s sleepy and half listening, eyes bright and hands moving.

Maybe, just maybe, there can be a Trixie and a Katya and a Violet dynamic without it being horrible. So he watches, quiet for once, and doesn’t make a comment when the three of them eat breakfast together on his couch, Violet’s feet propped delicately on Katya’s knees.

“So how long are you staying?” Katya asks through a mouthful of egg.

Violet shrugs.

“Until Tracy kicks me out.”

Katya snorts and nudges Trixie with her shoulder and Trixie just rolls his eyes.

“We’ll see”.

They will.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a part of them that’s always seeking to please Katya, and Violet hates it, loves it, doesn’t know how to deal with it except through sex and biting comments. 
> 
> They watch Katya flick Trixie’s ear, and wonders if they’ve fucked too. Wonders if Katya’s as rough with Trixie, if she holds him afterwards, or whether she just leaves the hotel room with a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter two!! this is Violet's POV n things start to get a bit more sexy! I had quite a lot of trouble wrangling Violet's narrative voice but as always i hope y'all like it and feel feel free to yell at me on tumblr @ wevsley  
> comments/criticism always appreciated <3

There’s something very right about seeing Katya and Trixie together. Something that makes Violet feel hollowly alone, yet oddly warm. Violet doesn’t get the warm and fuzzies. They don’t get _attached_ , per se. They love their friends, yeah, in a way that sometimes translates as bitchy. Okay, fair, Violet knows they’re a cunt. It’s their brand (and where’s Fame when you need her, right) and it’s true, as well. Violet’s never been the type to give out false compliments, to try and make people feel better. They’re a survivor, and sometimes that comes at the cost of other people. During drag race, Violet used to wish they were like Katya sometimes. They’ve watched their season, they know that the other girls laughed about them getting picked last and they get it, they do. Violet was a bitch. Is a bitch. But there’s something kind of quietly awful about winning a challenge, the _first_ challenge, which is what everyone came here to do, and being picked last. And there was Katya, the whole time, universally loved for her funniness and her weirdness and her kindness and her honesty. There was Trixie, who managed to balance shade and humour in a way that Violet never could. They’d always envied Trixie, quietly, for being bitchy yet likeable. But that was quiet, the inner Violet (the Jason, really) and they’d kept silent and won challenges and played strategically and learned how to compliment and then they’d fucking won.

 And now, they’re sat on Trixie Mattel’s couch, watching Katya and Trixie bicker like an old married couple.

“I still think we should livestream us watching Contact. Can you imagine the views? The _views_ , Trixie. I could Periscope it!”

“You are literally the only person in the entire world who still uses Periscope.”

“Fuck off whore, Courtney did one last week.”

“It’s Courtney, she can do what she wants”

Violet tunes them out. It’s an odd combination of isolating and pleasant, seeing them together, painfully close and full of love.

In truth, Violet doesn’t know why they chose to come here. In the heat of the moment, on the back of 36 hours of plane flights and who knows how long of touring, Trixie seemed a better option than Katya. They knew Trixie would roll his eyes and let him crash because Trixie was, secretly, a good person. With Katya there was always that expectation, slightly under the surface. Violet remembers the feeling of Katya’s teeth, of her hands everywhere, of her whispering into their ear. _You’re being so good, aren’t you._ Violet shivers involuntarily at the memory. There’s a part of them that’s always seeking to please Katya, and Violet hates it, loves it, doesn’t know how to deal with it except through sex and biting comments.

They watch Katya flick Trixie’s ear, and wonders if they’ve fucked too. Wonders if Katya’s as rough with Trixie, if she holds him afterwards, or whether she just leaves the hotel room with a wink.

“Whatcha thinkin, Vi?”

 Katya’s looming over them, wide grin on her face but a trace of something else in her eyes.

Violet grins up lazily.

“Just thinking about whether you hold Mattel after sex. He strikes me as the needy type.”

Katya look at them for a second before her eyes widen and she squawks a laugh and hits Violet with a pillow.

Trixie gives them a look from where he’s sat at the table.

“Okay, first off, we all know that I’m the hypothetical big spoon in this dynamic.”

Katya and Violet share a disbelieving look.

“Fuck both of you, get out of my house.”

“I think you’ll find this is actually a condo, Tracy”

“Katya, please take Violet. She’s like the abandoned kitten that follows you home and then destroys your curtains”

“Please, Firkus, I haven’t destroyed anything. Yet”. Violet stands up and stretches, aware of the shirt riding up their stomach, and walks back over to the bedroom. The, they turn around and wink at Trixie. “Maybe your bed, if you’re lucky.” 

Behind them, Violet hears Katya’s answering cackle and smiles. 

****

Whenever Violet and Trixie are together, there’s tension. Violet supposes they could be classed as frenemies. For three years, they’ve been biding their time, waiting for the inevitable hate fuck. Waiting to get Trixie out of their system, waiting to get rid of the uncomfortable itch that plagues them whenever they’re around him. Violet hasn’t quite figured out whether Katya eases or abates that tension. They’re out for lunch together, the three of them. Katya’s talking passionately about her new show, hands flailing everywhere while Trixie watches, butting in occasionally with a suggestion or a criticism. Violet watches Trixie watching Katya, watching the endearment in his eyes, and hates themself, slightly. They see why the two of them are fan favourites (has always known, from season 7, that they would be adored in a way Violet never could be). When they’re together it’s natural and hilarious and joyous. Violet knows they’re not funny like Trixie or Katya. Remembers seeing an interview, once, where Trixie said that Violet was actually funny, and remembers the hot squirmy pleasant feeling it had ignited. Not that Violet would ever admit to watching videos of them. Violet rarely feels alone, on tour. There were always other queens, always Pearl and Fame a text away, always the trade.

Violet didn’t quite know why they text Trixie. Usually it was after the latest boy (Alaska called them race chasers, and to be honest it was pretty accurate) has scurried off with a selfie and a story for reddit. Violet would turn on youtube and watch unhhh. It was stupid and ridiculous and funny and Violet doesn’t have much of a self preservation streak. For some reason, Trixie knowing that they watch his videos doesn’t seem awful. It’s like Violet’s silent message to Trixie that they like him, at least enough to watch his stupid show. And Violet likes to meddle. They never reply to Trixie’s responses, like to imagine him confused and hot and bothered. Especially the mirror selfies. They always want to look their best for Trixie. Violet is choosing not to analyse that any further. But sometimes, there are things that Violet sees that they know Trixie would find funny, or interesting. They send them, because it matters but it also doesn’t. Sometimes they see things for Katya, and send them to Trixie too.

 

Again, Violet’s not analysing it.

 

They tune back in to Katya asking a question.

“So you’ll come, yeah?”

“What?” Violet shakes their head and Katya rolls her eyes in a sort of fond way.

“I’m doing a show tonight. Twitter’ll have a field day if you’re both there.”

“The wife and the mistress in one place,” Trixie snorts quietly into his mug of coffee.

Violet thinks for a moment before letting a slow smirk spread across their face.

“I have a better idea”.

 **** 

Violet can hear Katya talking to the crowd, amping them up. It’s her last number and the audience is electric. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of a really good show, of the audience engaging one hundred percent in what you’re doing. Violet can feel Katya’s high and is buzzing with it. Trixie stands next to them, and Violet gives him the appraising once over. He’d taken some convincing before finally giving in, and Violet is glad. He looks…well, he looks fucking _hot_ , in a business suit with his tie knotted loosely around his throat, top button on done. He has makeup on, enough to be stage ready and he’s sweating lightly. They make eye contact with each other and grin. Katya’s about to bring them on stage.

Katya looks hot too. Katya always looks hot in drag, it makes Violet feel weird sometimes. They remember on tour when sometimes Katya would come into their room in drag and Violet would ask her to keep her makeup and wig on while they rode her. She’s in a red corset and panties and it’s so un-Katya, so different to what she usually wears and it’s turning Violet on, frankly. Particularly as it’s their panties she’s wearing.

“Now, for this last number, I have some special guests.”

The crowd whoops, excitement and anticipation so thick that Violet swears they can feel it like a cloak.

“Don’t get too excited folks, they’re nothing special.” With that, electronic music fills the speakers and Violet steps on stage, swinging their hips to the beat of their own voice. 

_I’m a good housewife, I respect and obey._

They’re in a little gingham dress and it’s fucking cute and the crowd recognises them and starts screaming and Violet is ready. They lisynch, dancing slowly and out of the corner of their eye, Trixie walks onto the stage. It’s doing things to Violet as Trixie sits down on a chair in centre stage and spreads his legs. Violet and Katya are both lipsynching and she sees Katya slowly sink into a squat, pulling faces at odds with the sheer sensuality of her pose.

Not wanting to be outdone, Violet stalks over to Trixie, placing their head on his shoulders as if she’s whispering in his ear.

_It’s so nice to have a man around the house._

On the lyric, Violet puts their foot on Trixie’s knee, rolling their body. They see Katya slinking towards them.

_Dinner’s ready_

Katya sinks down into a split doing her patented pussy pop. The audience is living and Violet smirks and rolls her eyes to herself. Slowly, they swing their legs over Trixie’s and clamber onto his lap. Trixie is looking at them, eyes wide and face twisted into a smirk.

  _Bettie needs a spank._

 At this, Trixie grabs their legs and hauls them up in a surprising display of strength. Violet lands on their feet and moves in front of Trixie, bending over to grind their ass into his crotch. They feel, rather than see, Katya move behind Trixie. Violet has no idea what she’s doing but the crowd is so deafening that they can barely hear the music. Violet loves this. This feeling of immortality and energy coursing through them, the feeling of Trixie’s big hand on their hip, the combination of sheer elation and sexual frustration gripping them. They roll their hips again and the song is coming to an end. Breaking out of Trixie’s grip, they lift up their skirt and smack their ass, winking at the audience.

Bettie fades out and Violet turns to see Katya grinning manically and Trixie smirking, arms crossed. A shiver runs through Violet as Trixie turns the smirk toward them.

“Thank you Ms Violet Chachki and Mr Trixie Mattel!”

Katya has to shout over the roars in the small room. Violet is off stage, Trixie right behind. They make it to the dressing room and Trixie collapses on his ass on the floor.

 “Holy shit”

“Right?!” Violet can’t help it, they’re excited and buzzing and actually really fucking horny.

Violet moves to remove their wig, a black pin up style one, when Trixie stops her.

“Leave it on”

“What?”

Violet stares at him in the mirror, but can’t read his gaze. Seconds tick past slowly, and Violet feels like the room is doused in honey, slowing down everything except their heartbeat.

Trixie smiles and slowly approaches until he’s stood behind them, holding their gaze in the mirror.

‘Daddy needs a wank’, he whispers quietly.

Violet’s face cracks, and they give a shout of laughter as Trixie grins as well.

“I hate you.” They hit him and he grins, reaching across to grab a makeup wipe and Violet’s stomach rolls hotly, their face still flushed.

“Trixie, I-”

Trixie turns to them, wiping off the stage makeup. The tension in the room from moments ago is back and Violet falters, wonders if this is where they kiss Trixie, where Trixie rejects them, where they never text him again. Trixe makes an aborted movement, as if to reach for – something.

“Shit!” Katya barges in, yanking off her heels, and Trixie and Violet jump backwards. Violet feels like they’ve been caught, but doing what they’re not quite sure.

Katya glances between the two of them and Violet prays she’ll ignore it, prays she’ll say something funny and then they can all go home and Violet will sleep on Trixie’s couch and pretend none of this ever happened.

Instead, Katya walks towards them – slinks, really, if Violet’s being honest.

They stand in a triangle, Katya’s eyes flicking between them. They look ridiculous, Trixie with his makeup off in a suit and Violet dressed like a housewife, Katya oddly dominating in her lingerie. Trixie looks like he wants to say something and suddenly, acutely, Violet doesn’t think they can bear it if it’s a joke.

Slowly, Katya grins.

“Fucking finally. Let’s go.”

“Where?” Trixie’s voice sounds strained.

Katya grins even wider. 

“Home.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows that this can only end messily. Trixie and Violet…they’re volatile and dangerous together, and Katya knows that she’s going to get caught up in the collision. She wants to.
> 
> Because she knows that she’s a little bit in love with both of them. But Katya knows she’s not made for loving, not made for gentleness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut and angst!! half of this fic was written while listening to a sad spotify playlist. The other half was written while listening to cupcakke. that's really all u need to know

Since her season, Katya has gotten better at being confident. She knows she’s talented, she knows she’s good at what she does. She still panics, and still feels the rising crush of anxiety until she almost can’t breathe. She still looks at herself in the mirror and doesn’t quite know who she sees, whether she’s in drag or out of it.

But, there are a few things Katya does know.

She knows she’s good in bed. She knows Violet is too.

She knows she’s wanted to sleep with Trixie since day one, pretty much. She also knows there’s a reason they haven’t, yet. She’s not sure she wants to know what that reason is.

She knows that this can only end messily. Trixie and Violet…they’re volatile and dangerous together, and Katya knows that she’s going to get caught up in the collision. She wants to.

Because she knows that she’s a little bit in love with both of them. But Katya knows she’s not made for loving, not made for gentleness.

She knows she’ll ruin it.

//

Tension fills the backseat of the Uber. Katya is sat in the middle of the backseat and feels the heat of Trixie’s thigh against hers, the press of Violet’s bony shoulder into her own. She lets a slow grin slide across her face, revels in the sweat she feels on Violet’s arm, tunes in to Trixie breathing heavily through his nose.

She laughs a little, can’t help it really given the absurdity of the situation. _Fuck_ , here she is in the backseat of an Uber, about to watch her best friend fuck her ultimate friend with benefits. Her laugh seems to shift the tension in the car. Trixie smiles at her and lets out a small disbelieving huff. Violet rolls their shoulders before leaning over Katya’s lap to bat their lashes.

“So, which one of you is gonna fuck me? Or are you gonna double team?”

The casualness with which they ask the question makes it hotter and Katya’s stomach rolls as she imagines herself fucking Violet’s ass while they suck Trixie off.

“Simmer down Alaska,” Trixie laughs, but Katya can see then heat on his cheeks and knows he’s imagining something similar. Violet watches their reactions and Katya knows they get off on this, making people squirm.

But Katya also knows what Violet likes in bed. She’s very familiar with the Violet who twists around in her bedsheets keening and needy, glowing with sweat while she fingers them slowly, mercilessly. She’s one of the few people who’s seen Violet unable to form words. She’s one of the few people who’s heard Violet say _please_. Katya doesn’t know if Trixie’s ready for that. She doesn’t know if she wants Trixie to see that Violet. _At least, not yet_ , a small voice supplies. Katya is very adept at reasoning with her small voices.

And there’s a part of Katya – a big part, actually – that feels kind of weird about fucking Trixie. She’s not sure she’s ready for that yet. There’s something that she can disconnect herself from in watching Violet suck Trixie off. But the idea of actually fucking Trixie – there’s this dumb fucking part of her that wants it to be more than that, more than a one-night stand.

So Katya’s horny and confused and Violet’s still draped across her lap and their hand is on Trixie’s thigh, just holding it there and Violet is looking up at Trixie through her eyelashes and Trixie is staring at Katya’s mouth and all Katya can do is stare down at Violet’s back, still in the pretty little dress she wore on stage.

Fuck, they’d both driven her crazy up there. Watching Violet practically give Trixie a lap dance had released something in Katya, another little voice to add to her collection, this one growling _mine_ at both of them. There was something magnetic about seeing the two of them together, working together in cohesion and a little bit of opposition, trying to outplay one another. And that’s when Katya knew, with the dawning latent psychic energy she was convinced she’s inherited from her grandmother, that they were going to fuck. It would be a travesty, a painful, simply travesty if Katya wasn’t there for it.

If there’s one thing she’s learnt in the last few years, it’s that if you want to do something, you have to just do it. You have to take the opportunities life presents you, and life has presented her with this glorious mess of unclear feelings and soon to be resolved sexual tension.

The Uber stops outside Trixie’s condo. Violet raises themself from Katya’s lap and pays the driver as Trixie clambers out of the backseat. Violet slides out after him. Katya is alone in the backseat, heart pounding, a strange but comforting buzz of confidence, anticipation and slight wariness coursing through her.

She climbs out and looks at up to Trixie’s front door. Violet has a hip popped, waiting impatiently. Trixie is stood behind them, a large hand on their other hip, rolling his eyes 

Katya imagines the feeling of Trixie’s hand on her own hip. She imagines the feeling of Violet’s hipbone under her hand.

She smiles, and makes her way towards them.

 //

Stepping inside Trixie’s front door, Violet is immediately on her. They kiss Katya aggressively, all tongues and hands and Katya’s just as rough back, grabs Violet’s ass and fucking squeezes. Violet pulls away and turns to Trixie, who’s watching and flushes, dick straining against the pants of the faux business suit. Trixie meets Kayta’s eyes and she gives him a little nod as if to say go on. There’s something infuriatingly hot about watching Violet and Trixie kiss. Trixie’s arms are wrapped around Violet’s waist, Violet’s hands cupping his face in a way that’s oddly tender. Katya flares with jealousy at that, doesn’t know if she wants to be the caresser or the caressed and steps behind Violet. She bites down on the exposed skin of Violet’s shoulder and feels them arch into Trixie, and meets Trixie’s eyes as she reaches around Violet to grab Trixie’s ass.

Then, Katya steps back. She hears Trixie whine at the loss of contact, hears Violet huff with frustration into Trixie’s neck 

She knows Trixie doesn’t like to fuck in drag, but, well. She’s never heard him complain about fucking someone _in_ drag.

“Take off your dress, Vi, honey”

Violet turns to face her, colours a little at the pet name, but reaches behind them to unzip the dress. Trixie whistles.

“Oh ho _ney”._

They turn back to Trixie, fully unknotting his tie.

“Keep talking and I’ll gag you with it.”

Trixie chuckles at that, eyes dark.

“I’d like to see you try.”

This is good, this is perfect, this is what Katya wants, what she needs 

Violet’s standing there in a thong with their makeup smeared and Trixie looks like he wants to devour them. Katya sits on the couch.

“Violet, suck Trixie off”.

 Trixie’s eyes widen at that, while Violet rolls theirs.

“I thought that would be your job. God knows you’ve been wet for his dick long enough.”

Violet’s words don’t phase her (surprisingly). Katya simply watches, aware of the fact her dick is leaking on her borrowed red panties.

Violet sinks to their knees, like Katya knew they would. Katya _knows_ Violet, knows Trixie too, knows what that mouth is like.

She can’t see Trixie’s dick, which is a travesty honestly, but her view is still good. Violet’s head is bobbing, Trixie’s hands gripping tightly in their wig. His head is tipped back against the wall. Katya sees his collarbone gleaming with sweat in the low light.

“Trix, baby, I want to hear you.”

The words feels like more of an admission than they should be. Violet pauses, slightly, as Trixie lets out a strangled moan.

Katya’s stroking herself slowly, in time to Violet’s bobbing. 

Trixie’s whining, gripping harder into Violet’s wig. He’s kind of a brat and Katya loves it, wants to get all up in that and fuck him till he’s begging. She strokes herself slightly faster, tugs her dick as she makes eye contact with Trixie.

She senses, rather than sees him come, commits his face to memory. Trixie looks like a god, drained and glowing and cast in honey from the warm light of his lamp. Violet sits back on their heels, wipes their mouth.

Both of them turn to watch Katya stroke herself. She feels her own blush rising, grips her dick tighter as she thrusts into her hands. She comes with both of their eyes on her, Trixie damp and lovely, Violet hard and keening, rubbing themself with the heel of their palm.

Trixie steps out of his trousers and boxers and shrugs off the white shirt. He’s the only one fully undressed and Katya takes a moment to take in the sight of him, his golden skin and broad shoulders. God, she wants to feel those hands on her .

Violet whines desperately.

“Fuck, Katya, Trixie.”

Katya stands and beckons for Trixie to approach her. He unlaces her corset (and she knows, from knowing Violet, how much they enjoy this, the act of undressing), and it’s tender, weirdly, his warm fingers on her exposed skin. He presses a kiss to her shoulder, teeth scraping over a freckle there. Katya shivers, pulls off the soiled panties herself. Trixie turns and pulls Violet up from where they’rer still palming themself on the floor. He grabs their hand, grabs Katya’s too, and pulls the two of them into his bedroom.

Trixie lets go of both their hands, pushing Violet onto the bed. Katya sits behind Violet, their head on her lap. She lets her hands drift down to Violet’s nipples, tweaks their piercing firmly. Trixie’s kneeling over Violet on the bed, jerking them off. He looks up at Katya and there’s a moment of charged electricity before he surges forward, kissing her. Trixie’s lips are salty and soft and Katya’s lost in them, in Trixie’s teeth nudging her own, hurried and intoxicating. Suddenly, she jerks back.

“Fuck!”

She looks down at Violet’s face, frustrated and smug, and at the bite mark on her thigh.

Trixie laughs as he realises what’s happened, resumes his jerking.

“Asshole,” Katya mutters, and leans down to kiss Violet. The angle is awkward, but Katya makes it work. Violet’s mouth is tinged with the taste of Trixie’s cum, and the thought makes Katya shudder with excitement and pull away. As she does, Violet jerks in her lap and comes all over their stomach and Trixie’s hand. Katya watches Trixie and Violet stare at eachother as Trixie licks the cum off his hand.

The three of them breathe heavily in silence before Trixie dramatically collapses on Violet with a grunt.

“Ugh, fuck you, you’re all sweaty.” Violet pushes half heartedly at Trixie. Katya gently edges out from under them, and Violet looks at her imploringly.

“Gimme a sec”.

She wanders into Trixie’s bathroom, pulls off the sweaty wig and removes her makeup with a wipe, grabbing some for Violet as well. At the doorway of the bedroom, she pauses.

The sight on the bed makes something in her heart clench. Trixie and Violet are centered on Trixie’s slightly too small bed. Violet’s head is on Trixie’s chest, nestled under his chin. They’re talking quietly. Violet smacks Trixie’s stomach and Trixie pokes them in the ribs. It’s soft and lovely and Katya feels like she’s intruding on something she never really realised existed. It _hurts_ , hurts how much she wants to climb inside them both, in Violet’s obnoxious laughter and Trixie’s stupid jokes. She considers leaving, like she used to do after her and Violet's trysts (ignoring how much she’d wanted to stay, because she knew Violet didn’t want to stay and cuddle).

“Why’re you lurking at the door like a sexy vampire?” Trixie calls, shaking Katya out of her thoughts.

“Because I am a sexy vampire,” she replies, deadpan, baring her teeth at the two of them in the dark. She walks over to the bed, stretching as she does, and lies down next to Violet.

Violet reaches behind her blindly, pulling her arm over her waist and Katya sighs, turns and presses her nose into Violet’s hair (their wig is off, and Katya is touched by an image of Trixie taking it off for them which makes her shiver). Her knuckles graze Trixie’s stomach.

Long after the others fall asleep, Katya lies awake, stroking Trixie’s stomach with her knuckles, pressing her mouth to Violet’s shoulder.

She wants this, painfully and sharp. She wants Trixie’s arm around Violet, wants herself pressing a kiss to Trixie’s cheek without it being weird, wants to suck Violet off while Trixie fingers them.

She aches with it, aches with the knowledge that Trixie sees her as nothing more than a friend, that to Violet she’s someone to laugh with and fuck but nothing more.

She aches with wanting this, and knowing.

Knowing that what Katya wants, she so very rarely gets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> questions/comments always appreciated, and you can find me @ wevsleys on tumblr!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her nails are red and chipped. He feels like Violet would hate it. He just wants to suck her fingers and taste sunlight and cherries and nicotine on them. He wants to suck her fingers, and watch her fuck Violet with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the world's longest filler chapter. There's no smut (sorry), but there are ~emotions~ (woo!). Big big big big big love to polly for being the world's best idea stimulator, this wouldn't exist without them.   
> My plan for this fic was literally   
> 'A Mess   
> Where is Katya  
> Feelings   
> Ouch pain good pain'   
> Also, Big Mood for this is Bloom by the Paper Kites, if you're into that

Trixie wakes up with a face full of someone else’s hair and the ghost of handprint on his hip. He blinks slowly, trying not to disturb Violet. Because, holy shit, that’s Violet on his chest. That’s Violet with their skinny arm wrapped around him. The events of last night float slowly towards him and he sinks into them for a second, sifting through them one by one. Violet’s mouth on him, the taste of them, sharp and intoxicating, Katya’s eyes on him as he came. But where’s Katya? It’s him and Violet, alone in the bed, Katya’s presence conspicuously absent. A wave of panic shoots through Trixie. He knows Katya, and something tells him she’s having a minor, if not major, crisis about the situation. Gently, he unwraps Violet from his torso (and, really, he’s not prepared for Violet’s octopus like tendencies, or the fondness he feels at it. He’ll have to ask Katya if that’s a normal Violet thing).

 Yanking on a pair of boxers, he pauses at the door of the bedroom. Violet looks ethereal on his bed, curled up and small, dark hair pooled around them. Trixie’s quietly the sentimental type. It’s a part of him he keeps under lock and key. He’s had his heart broken enough times to be wary. And Violet and Katya…he feels unsafe, almost. He’s a moth to the open, burning flame that is the two of them. Violet on his bed, soft and gentle, in a way that’s so categorically _un-Violet_ , except so obviously not, is heartbreaking. He can feel himself burning up already. It’s not unpleasant, but not not unpleasant. Trixie hates himself, slightly, for that thought, and locks Violet’s softness away to be dealt with later.

Trixie falls easily. He falls for kind smiles and biting words and soft hands and the promise of love. He’s had his heart broken a lot, by hands like Violet’s and smiles like Katya’s. Violet and Katya…they’re unbreakable. Violet’s never had a broken heart in their life. People go to Violet to get broken. And Katya? Everyone knows that Katya isn’t made for romance. _Trixie_ knows, has watched and wondered about the person who will eventually steal the heart that he’s always considered a little bit his. If Trixie’s honest, Violet’s the only person that’s come close to the dumpster fire that is Katya’s emotions. And Violet’s a fire themself, a fire that’s barely controlled, threatening to grow and grow until it destroys everything around it.

Trixie sighs. If anything, he feels like a wet towel, wrung out, damp and slightly ineffective.

Katya’s not in the kitchen or the lounge room. Trixie hopes desperately that she hasn’t left. He’s not prepared to deal with the fallout from Violet. Quietly, he’s not sure if he can deal with his own fallout. The thought of being left behind is softly, bitingly awful.

She’s on his balcony, sat on the ugly red plastic boxes he’s been using as impromptu seats for over a year, clad in his horrendous tartan dressing gown and smoking a cigarette. It’s earlier than Trixie realised, and the light is golden and hazy. He looks at her for a moment, fixates on the back of her neck, lustrous brown in the light, the plume of smoke curling up from between her lips. He thinks about Violet, dark and pale on his bed, Katya golden and light on his balcony and almost chokes with the wanting and the knowing and the _pain_ of it all. If Katya knows he’s there, she doesn’t show it. Her nails are red and chipped. He feels like Violet would hate it. He just wants to suck her fingers and taste sunlight and cherries and nicotine on them. He wants to suck her fingers, and watch her fuck Violet with them.

Trixie sits next to Katya on a plastic box. They watch the sun grow and expand around them. He puts his hand on her knee. She strokes it once with her thumb, without looking at him. He feels her tremble.

Trixie always has something to say to Katya. But in this moment, words are slightly beyond him, in a way totally foreign to him. He rests his head on her shoulder and lets that be his words.

_Please don’t ruin this. Please don’t panic. I want this. I want you both. Please, be soft with us._

Katya stubs out her cigarette on the box.

“Those boxes were very expensive, you know.” Trixie hears the hoarseness in his own voice.

Katya finally looks at him, raises an eyebrow, and cackles once. Trixie fills with a sense of calm at the grating sound.

“You bought those from the dollar store. You made Kim and I carry them all the way home because you didn’t want to ruin your nail polish. Hateful cunt.”

“Yeah, and you complained the whole time. You said they smelled like someone trying to perform a Satanic ritual by burning rubber ducks.”

“Well. I would know.”

This is Katya being soft with him, he can tell. He’s weak for it. He feels Katya’s head rest against his own, just for a second. 

The sliding door behind them opens, and it’s a quietly acknowledged moment of truth. This is where Violet calls him a bitch, and makes fun of the face he makes when he comes. This is where Katya laughs with her and makes them all coffee. This is where Trixie cooks breakfast, sniping at Violet. This is where Violet leaves his apartment, and continues to text him and fuck Katya but it’s fine because it’s normal. This is where he and Katya go back to being best friends, nothing more.

Except Violet sits down next to him on the box, gently nudging him with their hip to make room. Katya wordlessly lights them a cigarette.

 _Great._ Trixie thinks. _I’m going to get smoker’s breath by proxy._

But he doesn’t move, except to drag his thumb across the exposed flesh of Violet’s wrist. In this light, they look less like a forest fire and more like a steadily burning candle. The three of them sit, silently, and watch the sun.

Trixie feels warm.

//

There’s a conversation to be had, clearly. It’s the threesome shaped elephant in the room. Would that be three elephants having a threesome? Trixie isn’t sure he wants to know, and abandons the metaphor there. Anyway, there’s a conversation to be had. Trixie can’t quite bring himself to initiate it. Katya still looks skittish, like she could flee at any point. Violet’s only called him a bitch once this morning. It’s all very odd.

And yet, there’s a definite safety in this limbo, and Trixie’s content to float here for a while. They eat breakfast together. Trixie makes eggs and bacon. Katya announces that they’re the best unfertilised embryos she’s ever eaten. Trixie hits her with a tea towel. Violet insults the quality of his vegetarian bacon. Trixie flicks a lump of butter at them. It’s all very…domestic. He’s slightly concerned by the fact. It reaches mid-morning, and there’s clearly no reason for Katya and Violet to still be here. He’s lent them both clothes (cum stained lingerie is not, he feels, appropriate day wear. Violet had disagreed), and they both have various meetings to attend. Eventually, it’s Violet that makes the first move.

“Alright bitches, I have a meeting with my agent”

“Oooooh, a meeting with your _agent”_ Trixie mocks in his Hollywood White Girl voice.

Violet rolls her eyes. “Bitch, _you_ have an agent. You have two.”

Katya grins. “Don’t call us, we’ll call you. Or at least, one of us will. Hopefully.”

At that she stands, gives Trixie a little bow, and offers Violet her arm. They saunter out of the apartment, and Trixie breathes properly for the first time since Violet first came. The bedroom is off limits, currently, it smells like sweat and sex and Violet, so Trixie cleans the kitchen and then goes for a run and then showers and then finds himself in the dollar store buying a third red plastic box. There’s a perfectly good outdoor table and chairs in the shop two doors down. Trixie ignores it.

Then, he calls Kim.

“Can you come over?”

“I’m with Pearl.”

Trixie sighs.

“Bring Pearl. And snacks."

Pearl’s drawl filters through Trixie’s phone. “You sound stressed. I’m bringing weed.”

Trixie hangs up.

Kim and Pearl turn up half an hour later with three bags of Dorito, a giant tub of guac (“Where did you even _get_ this?” Trixie asks. Kim shrugs. “I know people"), and a bag of weed. Pearl lights up, and Trixie can’t even be mad at the smell. He hopes it’ll cover the lingering scent of Violet.

Kim crunches a Dorito, and gives him a calculating once over.

“Did you and Katya finally hook up?”

Pearl laughs while Trixie sputters through a mouthful of guacamole.

“It’s kind of a long story.” 

And he fills them in, accompanied by Pearl’s sage nodding and Kim’s sympathetic crunching. They sit in silence for a moment.

“Well, pumpkin, it sounds like you’re a little bit fucked,” Pearl finally drawls, patting his arm sympathetically.

“Do you like them? Both of them?” Kim asks.

Trixie doesn’t know how to articulate it, really.

“It’s like…I mean, I guess I’ve always been slightly in love with Katya.” 

Pearl and Kim both nod at that knowingly, which Trixie does not appreciate.

“And like, Violet…Violet’s Violet. They're an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a corset”

 "And a hot piece of ass," Pearl chimes in unhelpfully.

He sighs. Kim and Pearl exchange a look.

“Somehow, I feel like we aren’t going to be much help here,” Kim says apologetically.

“I think it’s like…Katya and Violet are both like, secretly soft and full of love. But they’re scared of, y’know, getting hurt. So, like, you have to wait, I think. We all know Katya loves you. And Violet likes you too.”

Trixie isn’t expecting such wise advice from Pearl. Kim hums in agreement. “You just have to wait and see what they want. Hopefully, it’s you.”

Trixie groans melodramatically.

“But I don’t even know if I want them! It’s such a fucking mess, they’re my colleagues and they’re both so…bright, fuck, they’re so bright and I don’t know if I can cope with that.”

Kim pats his head.

“Wait it out.”

“If you need a break from Vi, tell her she can crash at mine,” Pearl adds. Kim smacks her. “ _You’re_ crashing at _mine_.” Pearls shrugs. “Tu casa et mu casa, Brutus.”

Trixie looks at them, and is suddenly very glad he has them in his life. Kim sees him getting emotional, and kindly ignores it.

“Call us if you need us.”

“And if you fuck Violet, I want a detailed description,” Pearl calls over her shoulder. Trixie sarcastically waves goodbye before collapsing on the couch.

Trixie doesn’t know what he wants. Okay, that’s a lie. He know he wants to sleep with both of them, again. He wants them both to hold him, touch him, cover him in their hands and mouths. But he wants more than that. He wants Katya in his bed, wrapped around him in the mornings. He wants to see her in the morning, light filtering over his face. He wants Violet, achingly, painfully wants to see them at their softest. He wants to learn Violet like he’s learned Katya. He wants to learn them both, fully and completely. It’s a consuming need, one he has no idea how to address. Neither of them want him like that. The idea of Violet, especially, seeing him as anything more than a fuck is laughable. Trixie’s not built for that in the way that Katya is. He’s not made for this. He sinks deeper into his couch cushions, and imagines himself as a speck of dust, twirling through the air, colliding with other dust motes and not feeling anything, never touching the ground.

An impatient knock on the door shakes him out of his thoughts. He marches over to the door and yanks it open to see Violet standing there, arms crossed, an In-N-Out bag dangling from one slender finger. He stares at the bag, then at Violet, then at the bag again. Eventually, Violet rolls their eyes and elbows past him into the hall.

“Plates?”

Trixie nods wordlessly, and retrieves them from the cupboard. They sit across from each other at his tiny dining room table. His veggie burger is good, surprisingly. He watches Violet dip a fry into their can of Diet Coke in disgust and fascination. They don’t talk. Trixie’s kind of forgotten how to talk. He’s exhausted after today, after thinking and talking and reliving on constant loop.

“Pearl called me,” Violet offers nonchalantly, nibbling delicately on a piece of lettuce they’ve pulled out of their burger.

“ _Bitch_ ”, Trixie curses under his breath.

Violet raises an eyebrow. “Chill, Barbie. She just asked why I was staying with you.”

“What did you say?” Trixie asks, attempting to sound as nonchalant as Violet. He’s not convinced it's success.

Violet pauses for a second, not meeting his gaze.

“I told her that I didn’t know.”

“That’s somewhat unhelpful.”

“I’m aware.”

They’re both finished, now, sitting but not quite making eye contact.

Trixie can’t take the sight of them suddenly, sat at his shitty IKEA table, dark hair pulled over one shoulder, dark patches like thumb prints pressed under their eyes. Violet stands, collects their plates, and heads over to the sink. The sight of Violet Chachki stood at his sink, washing his dishes, is enough to shake him out of his stupor. He grabs a tea towel and dries.

“How was your meeting?” He doesn’t have the energy to be bitchy.

Violet shrugs next to him.

“Okay. They want me to do another tour. Which is fine, like, it’s the gig. I’m just…” they falter.

“Fucking tired of moving around all the time?” Trixie supplies.

“I mean, I love it. I just haven’t had a break in like, a year.”

Trixie nods. This is their life, all of them. You deal with it, you sleep for two weeks, and then you do it all over again. That’s the reality, that’s the barrier to anything healthy or normal.

The dishes are finished.

“Coffee?” Trixie suggests.

They drink on the balcony.

“Nice box,” Violet smirks, noticing the third red plastic nightmare.

Trixie laughs and rolls his eyes. “That’s what all the boys say.”

They sit comfortably, surprisingly. Violet talks about the tour they’ve just come off, about missing Fame (Trixie can relate, and they spend a happy few minutes talking about her), about their friends. Trixe tells them about growing up in Wisconsin (“ _Please_ tell me you’ve fucked someone in a tractor,” Violet says at one point), about his plans for UNhhh, about recording the album (the indescribable feeling of putting your soul to music, into words). It grows cold around them. LA’s smog covers the stars, but Trixie can feel them as deeply as if he’s in Wisconsin, staring at them out of his bedroom window, wondering where he’s going to end up.

“We should go inside,” he finally suggests, and Violet nods. They fold up together – well, not quite _together_ , but very close – on Trixie’s couch.

The TV is playing some terrible lifestyle show, Trixie thinks it’s Say Yes to the Dress. He and Violet make snarky comments at the TV (‘A Cinderella dress? Bitch more like a sin-derella dress, that shit needs to be burned’ ‘Oh bitch, oh no, you can _not_ be serious. You look like a cup cake on crack.’).

Eventually the snarky comments stop. Trixie realises it’s because Violet’s fallen asleep. He drapes a blanket over them, and doesn’t think about it.

He’s flicking through the channels when a frantic knock assaults his door. On his doorstep is Katya, eyes wide and frantic. She’s covered in sweat.

“I ran here,” she says, by way of explanation. “Can I use your shower?”

Violet’s awake, eyes bright and hooded from the couch. Katya ignores them, strides into Trixie’s bathroom and shuts the door.

Trixie’s still assessing. “Wait, she _ran_ here? That’s like, fifteen miles.”

Violet shrugs. “That’s Kat.”

The quiet feels loaded now, more so than it had before.

“Hey, Trix,” Trixie startles at the softness in Violet’s tone, at the nickname. “You ok?”

Trixie nods, settles on the couch next to them, traces circles on the blanket. The shower shuts off. Katya comes out a minute later, in a pair of boxers. She looks slightly less manic, now, approaches the couch nervously.

“Room for a third?”

Trixie pats the spot next to him and Katya sits down, pauses, and presses her cheek to his shoulder.

They fall asleep like that, tangled and slightly uncomfortable.

And Trixie _burns._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments always appreciated! feel free to yell at me on tumble @ wevsley


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell us what you want,” Violet says quietly, hates saying the words because they like to know, not ask.
> 
> Katya is silent for a few moments.
> 
> “Tell us what you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!! this chapter has smut, emotional turmoil and hedgehogs - all that good stuff. as always, big love to polly, an icon, star and legend. feel free to yell at me on my main blog @wevsley, or i also have a writing blog now @kittydoux. comments are always highly loved <3

Violet wakes up with a crick in their neck and Trixie Mattel drooling inelegantly on their shoulder. They’re pressed up against the arm of the couch. A red five blinks insolently at them from the digital clock on Trixie’s table. It’s early, too fucking early, thanks, but Violet knows they’re not going to be able to fall back asleep. They ease themselves out from underneath Trixie, who slumps further against the arm of the sofa. Katya is burrowed into him, arms slung loosely around his waist and mouth open on his chest. Violet takes a moment to look at them like this, open and vulnerable. They’ve seen Katya asleep, god, how many times? Napping on the tour bus, passed out on airport sofas. Once, in their hotel bed after a long gig where Alaska had accidentally taken Katya’s room key and was currently getting ploughed by a bar tender. Katya had looked at Violet sheepishly, put on her raspy voice (that reminded Violet secretly of a deranged farmer they had once known) and shrugged, saying “Sorry, mama. Guess you’re stuck with me”. This was in the middle, Violet remembers, of tour. It was after they’d started fucking (which had happened, really, as a joke once about Violet riding a pensioner, and had ended in this – both of them curled up in Trixie at 5am). That time, that time with the bed, they hadn’t had sex. Katya kissed them on the forehead (“This stops the goblins from harassing you while you sleep”), then once on each cheek. Violet remembers how they looked perfectly, as though they were an external observer. They see themselves cross-legged on a hotel room bed as Katya holds their face, kisses their closed eyes, and says good night. They see themselves watching Katya as she sleeps, tracing a finger down her shoulder.

This is the first time since then that Violet has seen Katya in this state, whole and surrendered and peaceful. This feels secret and safe, like they have to take in all of these details now for fear they’ll never see it again. It’s the veins in Katya’s arms, specifically, blue and spindly, contrasting with Trixie’s warm gold skin. Trixie tans naturally, in a way that makes Violet think of long summer nights, of abandoned highways, of the desert and the way it makes the sky look when it’s hot and nothing feels real, even less the stars. _Preservation_ , is what Violet thinks, and shakes their head slightly at their own ridiculousness. The sun is rising slowly. Trixie’s curtains aren’t fully shut, and a few fingers of orange light press against them. Violet wanders around, feeling slightly like a kid, up too early on Christmas morning and trying to figure what the presents are. Trixie has a rack of vinyls, including his own album (Violet listens to it sometimes on tour. They’ve never liked country music, but there’s something oddly comforting about his voice, singing about things that no one except a traveller could ever really understand). There’s some fanart on the walls, some ugly cushions (that Violet just _knows_ Katya picked out, gets a pang when they imagine Trixie and Katya going furniture shopping together). Trixie’s bedroom is simple, he has a pink bedspread and a guitar against the walls. Violet rifles through his wardrobe until they find a pair of light grey sweats and an inoffensive white tank, rolling their eyes at Trixie’s frankly terrible fashion sense.

They shower quickly, making sure to inspect all of Trixie’s assorted shower gels, finally deciding on one that smells like plastic apples. Katya is perched on a stool at the kitchen counter when Violet leaves the bathroom, Trixie’s sweatpants rolled down in an attempt to keep them on their skinny hips. She looks tired but lovely, as Katya so often does. She reminds Violet of a dancer from the seventies, all prominent cheekbones and big wondrous eyes, slightly emancipated in a way that makes Violet ache in a sad, small way.

“Good morning, Violet. Did the whispers of you inner demons wake you up early, or was that just me?” It’s a joke but not a joke, delivered with a wheeze and a sense of melancholy.

“Nah, mostly Mattel’s avalanche of drool.”

Katya bares her teeth at that, in a smile but not a smile. “He is truly the human embodiment of a curiously sticky waterfall.” Violet ignores her, and they both watch Trixie asleep on the couch, curled up now and covered in a blanket.

“Coffee?” Violet makes coffee, and Katya stretches in the corner, popping her shoulders and back in a fascinating yet disgusting way.

The smell of coffee rouses Trixie, who demands a mug in their hands before his eyes are even open. He and Violet sip in tandem as Katya moves into a downward dog, lean and lovely, framed in the light shining through a window that Violet had opened. It’s hot already, a sticky cloying.

“Nice sweatpants,” Trixie observes mildly, eyes unfocussed in the general vicinity of Violet’s chest.

“They were the only half decent things in your wardrobe." 

Trixie hums non-committaly. “I might have some jean shorts that would fit you.” Neither of them makes a move to retrieve them. Katya pads over, takes a swig of coffee from Violet’s mug. “I’ll make eggs” she offers, but it comes out as a question. “You’ll burn my apartment-” “condo,” Violet corrects unhelpfully. Trixie shoots them a look. “You’ll burn my _living zone_ down. I’ll help.”

Violet doesn’t offer to help, and takes their coffee outside. They sits on the red box they've come to think of as theirs, sweat pooling underneath their thighs. They know that most people find sweat distasteful - gross, even, but Violet finds a weird sort of pleasure in feeling the beads roll down their back and arms and legs. They like the feeling that the sun is focussing all it's attention on them, reducing them to a puddle. It's whatever. The door to the kitchen is open, and Violet can hear Trixie and Katya talking. They wonder if one of them will mention last night, or the weird state of limbo the three of them are currently wafting through. They don’t do any of those things. Well, not really. 

“You never mentioned Violet's cephalopod tendencies." Trixie’s voice sounds casual, in a way that wholly indicates he doesn’t feel casual at all.

"Why, has she been squirting ink in your shower? That's a new feature"

Violet hears Trixie shriek, the familiar sound of skin slapping skin.

"No, you absolute monster. She's so cuddly. It's like sleeping with the world's meanest scarf." Violet strains, listening for Katya's laugh. There isn't one. Her voice comes out slightly warbled when she replies.

"We never really did that."

There's silence for a few beats, Violet's heart thumping in their neck and wrists and toes. Sweat clings to them almost unbearably now.

"Why not?" Trixie sounds so soft that Violet thinks they love him a little. Who knew that the answer to the Violet and Katya mess of feelings and fucking would be Trixie, right? They can practically hear Katya shrug, are very tuned in to the minute shifts of her bones and muscles. "Because I...I don't know, I assumed they didn't want to? Vi's more of a sea urchin than an octopus". Violet hears the tremble in her voice, uses it to mask the stab of pain they feel at the words. Trixie's voice screams of raised eyebrows and disbelief. "Bitch, I know that that's not true after three days. You're seriously telling me, after how many months of fucking, that you didn't know she's a massive softie?" Another pause. Violet's not sure they're even breathing any more.

"Violet's like. Violet's like...you know, like porcupines? Well, in England they have hedgehogs-"

"Katya, I went to college. I know what a hedgehog is"

"Alright, okay, I mean you did do a degree in musical theatre in Wisconsin"

"Oh my god, I hate you. It was Wisconsin, not Siberia!"

"I think they have hedgehogs in Siberia?"

"What were we talking about again? Oh yeah, Violet. Continue with your analogy."

"Violet's like a hedgehog because she's prickly."

"Poignant."

"Fuck off. And like, hedgehogs roll into little balls when they're scared, right? So they're cute and then BAM! Like a tiny ball of cactus-like pain."

"Okay, but like. I take your simile, and raise you a metaphor. What if you're the hedgehog? What if Violet's been, I don't know, exposing her soft metaphorical stomach to you the whole time, and you've been the one in a spiky ball?" There's silence again. 

Violet is attempting to take in the fact that Katya thought a hedgehog was the most fitting animal to describe them.

"That is disturbingly profound, Tracy."

"I have my moments."

Silence descends. Violet’s sure that at least Trixie knows they’ve been listening. After a few moments, a freckled wrist shoves a plate of eggs in front of them. Trixie grins at them tiredly, and sits down on the adjacent red box. Katya joins them. They eat in silence.

“This is messy, isn’t it.” It’s an observation that needs to be stated, clearly, and Violet’s always been one for pushing that line. Kat and Trixie – they’re too close to ever say what they’re feeling really, to ever push that tension into romance. This is Violet’s civic duty, and they feel very much like the good and noble citizen they try so hard not to be.

Trixie shifts almost imperceptibly next to them. Violet hears him sigh.

“You’re right. This is messy.”

They wait expectantly for Katya’s input on the messiness. It doesn’t come, per se.

“In my educated opinion, I think we need to fuck again. To ascertain just what level of messiness we’ve reached. Can we just…postpone the other conversations?”

“Wow. Sexy.” Trixie mutters, and Violet huffs a laugh as they see his hand reach for Katya’s knee.

Violet elbows Trixie. “She’s an old woman, her idea of dirty talk is probably sending a carrier pigeon.” It’s weak, Violet knows, but Trixie laughs anyway and the golden line of his throat suddenly transfixes Violet. They want to bite it, so they do.

“Children,” Katya hums, before standing up and grabbing both of their hands. They follow her into Trixie’s bedroom. Like before, Katya is so effortlessly and undeniably in control of this physical relationship, regardless of her internal tumult. Her hands are connecting the three of them, and Violet has a sudden, absurd desire to grab Trixie’s hand as well and form a circle, like they’re about to form a ritual. _Please, god of polyamory, let this work out._ They feel Trixie’s eyes on them, and give in to the urge to look at him. His eyes are pretty. It seems such a stupid, trivial thing to think. And Violet’s not used to sex _meaning_ this much. They don’t know if they like it. But still, they trace Trixie’s flushed cheek with a finger. They wonder if Katya’s enjoying the contrast in their skin tones as they press a soft kiss to his lips. Violet’s taller than both of them, uses it to their advantage as they press Trixie against the bed, other hand still clinging to Katya. They break the kiss and Trixie smiles sweetly, softly, privately. He’s let go of Katya’s hand at some point, and Violet uses the opportunity to grab Katya’s face in both of their hands.

“Close your eyes,” they whisper. Katya does, and Violet kisses her gently on both eyelids and then on her mouth. Because this is what Violet’s good at, they’re good at taking control and calling the shots. Violet knows what people want, and sometimes they give it to them. They can tell that Katya wants this, more than she’s ever wanted Violet on their own. The thought should sting a little, but it doesn’t. Trixie’s sat on the bed, watching, and Violet feels Katya reach down blindly to grab his hand. This feels important, jarringly so.

_Let us take care of you, let us hold you, let us be soft with you._

Violet breaks away from Katya, whose eyes are still closed. They make an odd picture, Trixie sat on the bed holding Katya’s hand, Violet looming over her.

“Tell us what you want,” Violet says quietly, hates saying the words because they like to know, not ask.

Katya is silent for a few moments.

“Tell us what you _need._ ” Trixie’s voice is gravelly and rough, and fuck it’s turning Violet on. They’re hard, aware of the fact that there’s more than likely a significant damp patch on Trixie’s borrowed pants.

“I want…Vi, baby, I wanna see you ride Trixie.”

Violet smirks. “I can do that.”

“Ugh, topping,” Trixie rolls his eyes. Violet relinquishes Katya, approaches Trixie steadily and sits on his lap. “You’ll like it, promise.”

Trixie kisses them then, all vestiges of softness gone. His teeth scrape their tongue, and this is _it_ , this is Violet’s fucking game. They grind slowly on his lap, feeling him harden, and then climb off him. Trixie whines through his teeth, desperate.

“You’re such a brat, Tracy,” Violet grins. “Get on the bed.” 

Trixe pushes himself back as Violet crawls over to him. Teasingly, they run their hands down his chest, down his still clothed dick, barely touching. Violet’s always loved irritating Trixie, and now they know it comes with the delightful image of him writhing and sweaty and _needy,_ and oh man is Violet going to use that against him.

“Play nice, Vi,” Katya’s voice comes from the edge of the bed. She’s still stood there, watching.

“Take off your clothes, Kat. I think Trixie needs some help.” Katya obeys, makes light work of her clothes and clambers up the bed. She pauses for a second before leaning down and kissing Trixie. Violet sits back on their heels to watch Katya deepen the kiss as Trixie’s hands come to grip her shoulders. They think Katya might be crying, but it could just be the light. Violet usually saves their emotional and sexual trysts for late at night. Morning sunshine is still streaming in through the crack in Trixie’s curtains. Trixie and Katya are so clearly absorbed in each other, in this wanting that’s plagued them for how many years. Violet watches them with a touch of jealousy and a pang of desire. Katya’s got her hands down Trixie’s pants now, tugging him gently. Trixie breaks away, and Violet thinks he might be crying, too. But it could just be the light.

“Stop, Kat, stop,” he says softly, and Violet might just leave now, might just walk away and not come back because all of a sudden this feels like too much. Katya pauses.

“Violet, I want to – just, come here.” Violet loves him again in that split second. “Kiss Katya.”

Katya’s eyes are bright when she looks up, but there’s a certain steel in her gaze and she kisses Violet, knees still on either side of Trixie’s torso. This is familiar territory, Katya’s lips are an old friend and Violet grips her hip, kisses her deeper. Katya’s softly grinding down on Trixie’s stomach, and he’s whining.

Violet breaks away, pushes Katya off Trixie gently, and gets to work undressing him. Katya is tugging at their tank and Violet pulls off their sweatpants. Trixie’s hard, and Violet can’t resist taking him into their mouth, revels in that fucking _whine_ , in Trixie’s hands in their hair, in the fact that Trixie is kind of a little bitch. Violet smirks around his cock. They’re a little bitch, too. They pull off him to see Katya stroking herself slowly, condoms and lube by her knee.

“Wait, wait,” Trixie keens. Violet pauses, about to slide the condom onto him. He leans over, grabs Katya’s hand from where it’s resting on her dick. Slowly, he takes two of her fingers and sucks them gently. Katya’s eyes are wide as she watches him. He releases her, and grins snarkily up at Violet. “Kat, can you get Violet ready?” Violet loves this, falls to their hands and knees as Katya presses up behind them, circles their hole with one finger before pushing in slowly. Katya’s fucking her slowly. “More,” Violet demands, and Katya obliges with another finger. Violet presses back eagerly, and feels the vibrations of her laugh.

“I think you’re good,” Katya says, withdrawing her hand. Violet keens at the loss, leans over to put the condom on Trixie. Slowly, they clamber onto him, sinking down. It’s Trixie’s eyes on theirs, his mouth forming a delightful little ‘o’. It’s Katya’s heavy breaths next to him, the sound of skin on skin. It’s Katya’s hand on them. It’s all of it, overwhelming and so fucking _right_ that tips Violet over the edge, spilling onto Trixie’s chest and Katya’s hand. Trixie follows a few seconds later, strung out and flushed. Katya is still jerking herself, harder tugs now, Trixie and Violet watching her hungrily. She pauses, and looks up at them both with a desperation Violet recognises.

“Touch me.” It’s a command more than a question, but there’s a please in there somewhere. Violet slides off Trixie with a hiss and flicks Katya’s hand away from herself. Trixie joins her seconds later, jerking in tandem.

“I want to hear you, baby,” Trixie says quietly, mirroring Katya’s own words back to her, and she comes with a strangled groan. The three of them sit heavily on the bed, sticky, chests heaving. A car horn beeps loudly outside as the sounds of the city filter in. In Trixie’s bedroom, however, there’s still a tangible silence, heavy and cloying like overripe peaches. Violet rubs an arm over their eyes, hands still sticky.

“Shower?” 

Trixie nods and runs his thumb over Katya’s bottom lip. She’s smiling softly, eyes far away, as if she’s so focussed on this moment that she’s lost it somehow. They climb off the bed and Violet turns on the shower, watching Katya and Trixie squeeze in afterwards. It’s cramped, clearly, but Trixie and Katya are both so fucking _hot_ and Violet wants to die, slightly, wants to touch them both and be touched in return. Once they’re clean (mostly, Violet isn’t sure packing three adults into an average sized shower is particularly cohesive to cleanliness), Trixie throws them both towels. Violet dries themself off quickly, and wanders out of the room naked. They know Trixie and Katya are both watching, and settles cross legged on the sofa. Katya and Trixie both emerge in boxers, and Violet rolls their eyes at the middle aged dad-ness of it all.

“So, this is where we talk.”

Katya lets out a suffering groan and collapses on the couch, head on Violet’s naked thigh. Trixie settles down on the floor, a mirror image to Violet on the couch.

He sighs, lets out a whistle through his teeth.

“I’ll go first.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, running away from this won’t make it easier”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it!! i would just like to say thank you to everyone who's commented/left kudos on this fic (both here and on aq/tumblr). this is kind of my whole heart and like..i love you all for reading this strange little plotless fic. polly has truly been my north star through this, and this chapter is dedicated to her. 
> 
> this was kind of an odd chapter to write? and while this is the Official End i love these dorks and i always want to ramble about them so i'll prob add the occasionally drabble/if u want to know anything about them i'm on tumblr @ wevsley or Kittydoux (my writing blog) feel free to ask anything. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading this fic, n pls feel free to leave any comments bc they are my life blood
> 
> (pro tip: listen to folk music while reading this. diana silvers' 'fleurs' playlist on spotify is a good place to start)

Katya rests her head on Violet’s soft pale thigh. She presses a kiss to it, softly, gently, silently, and hopes Violet feels it. Violet strokes a hand over her hair once in recognition. It’s been a while – well never, actually, when she thinks about it – since she had her head this close to Violet’s dick without doing something with it. Katya’s come to the realisation, sort of, that maybe her whole friends with benefits thing with Violet hasn’t been particularly beneficial. Not because she doesn’t like Violet, but because she does. Achingly, brutally in fact. And some part of her (a big part, actually, taking residence in the part of her brain Brenda inhabits) has been repressing it. This train of thought is very mature, she thinks. She still doesn’t want to deal with it, though.

Trixie lets out a whistle through his teeth. Katya’s very familiar with the sound. It’s the sound he makes before a meet and greet, before getting on a 12 hour plane flight, before confronting someone. It’s his sound of having to deal with something he doesn’t particularly want to deal with. Katya hates that this time, it’s her. They’d both said it was messy. Katya gets the implications of that. It’s because _she’s_ messy, fuck, and she doesn’t think she can be casual.

Katya’s good at casual, the queen of it, some would say. Trixie’s not. Violet’s good at it, but then, Violet’s good at everything. Or at least, Katya thinks she is. Thought she was. Katya hates herself slightly for not knowing because she _knows_ Violet, she does. She loves Violet as a friend and as more and she can’t stand the fact that she hasn’t seen all of Violet. She hates that this is even happening it all.

“I’ll go first,” Trixie says, and Katya wants to throw up and run away. She doesn’t want to hear Trixie say he can’t do this, that he doesn’t want to see her again.

“I kind of hate this,” Trixie says, and Katya’s done, actually, and she wants to leave except she’s frozen on the sofa and Violet’s thigh is sweaty underneath her head and she’s sticking to it like glue. This is a nightmare, like she’s in a pool of honey and slowly suffocating. If Violet notices, they don’t mention it. Katya thinks Violet might be holding their breath too, and it’s that thought that makes her stop and breathe.

“This is so fucked up,” Trixie continues. “Like, you’re my best friend, Katya, and Violet – I don’t even know if I like you as a person.”

Violet looks stricken at that, and Trixie’s eyes widen.

“Shit, fuck okay sorry. That was a poor attempt at humour. I do like you as a person, sorry, jeez, I’m fucking this up.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Katya chimes in.

“Unhelpful, Katya, thank you,” Trixie glares. “Okay, let’s start this again. I like you both. Katya, you’re my best friend. Violet, you’re my friend and I like you a lot as a person. You’re funny and you’re weirdly kind and you make me think about stuff. You’re both like, super hot. Which is obviously subjective and looks aren’t everything but if I met you in a club I would totally hit on both of you. I mean, Violet, I topped for you.”

“Technically I did all the work,” Violet drawls.

Trixie’s rambling, which means he’s nervous. Katya is well educated in the Trixie Mattel school of body language, is familiar with the way his tongue skims over his bottom lip (can’t count the number of times she’s wanted to kiss him like that, kiss away the anxiety and the stress), the way he clasps and unclasps his hands (Katya loves Trixie’s hands, they’re so soft and pretty and not like him, his strong, gold, tough body that Katya wants to trail kisses up and down). And she’s familiar with his rambling because she does it too.

He scrubs a frustrated hand over his face. “What I’m trying to say is that I like you both and I want to sleep with you again but also not sleep with you. Like, I want us to hang out without sex. And do other stuff. But you both scare me. A lot.”

Silence descends over the room. If Katya didn’t know better, she’d say it was like Trixie wanted them to be a couple. A trouple? Katya’s pretty sure polyamory isn’t really a thing in West Hollywood. She imagines living her life every day like she’s lived them the past few days. Imagines waking up to Trixie’s face, to Violet’s arms, to cooking them breakfast, and her heart burns and beats so fast she can’t breathe. 

Because, at risk of sounding like Laganja, this is all too fucking much. The thought of one of them alone is overwhelming. The thought of fucking it up with Trixie, who’s kind of her soul mate, with Violet, who makes her think and fight and laugh, both of them, who she loves, actually, is acknowledging it now, is awful. It’s so awful that Katya sits up and leaves the room, ignoring Trixie and Violet’s questions. She can’t breathe in that room, that room full of expectation and inevitable disappointment. She stands on Trixie’s balcony, next to the red plastic boxes. Violet’s is shiny and new, hers is covered in cigarette burns and has a chip in one corner where she dropped it once. How prophetic, she thinks. It’s afternoon, which is an odd time to be having this conversation. This feels like the sort of conversation to be had late at night, or in an expensive restaurant, or drunk in a dive bar. Because it feels like a confession, a series of them, in fact, and Katya usually only confesses to things in the dark of the night, when things feel hopeless.

She’s no stranger to confessing, had been to countless priests and churches in her twenties, confessing her old sins to excuse her new ones, looking for an answer for why she’s like this. Why she ruins things, why she ruins herself. She used to sit in the back pews of churches (any denomination, she’s never been fussy about salvation) and listen to people talk about sin, about power, about love, until she felt calm enough to sleep or stressed enough to run. She’s spent long nights in churches, in tacky ones with glowing neon figures of the Virgin Mary, in dark ones full of stone and damnation (she liked those ones the most, because they made her feel both awful and untouchable), in friendly ones with kind eyes and people looking at her hollow cheekbones. She hates those ones. Sometimes she looks at Trixie and Violet and sees the same kindness, and it makes her wants to rip off her skin and dissolve.

And then she’d replaced churches with people, for a while, and after that she’d got her shit together. This is a new church, the church of Trixie and Violet, or actually Trixie-and-Violet, one word, thanks. What a fucking unholy trio they make. Violet’s an angel and a demon and Trixie’s an old world god and Katya’s Katya. She stands on Trixie’s balcony and it’s warm and she listens to the cars beep and wonders what the people next door are thinking about, if the homeless man down the street has ever been propositioned by his best friend and realised he’s slightly in love with his friends with benefits.

“You know, running away from this won’t make it easier,” Violet’s voice comes from behind her. And here’s the thing.

If Trixie knows her (which he does), Violet’s the only one who knows her just as well. Violet knows her differently, knows her body and soul. For all that Katya’s been wilfully ignoring Violet’s softness, she’s painfully aware of Violet’s brightness. Violet’s been a star since day one and it makes Katya insecure because there’s no way she can ever be good enough, ever hold a candle to that flame. Because Violet’s beautiful, and then they had to go and ruin Katya by being smart and witty and secretly kind as well. It seems odd that Violet’s the slow burn, not Trixie. Katya’s been in love with Trixie since day one, and there’s a reason she’s never acted on it. It’s because of Violet. 

This is the thing.

She can never be with one, because she loves the other.

 _Choices,_ she thinks, and laughs defeatedly.

“Please don’t throw yourself off my balcony,” Trixie says quietly behind her. “If you don’t want me, you can just tell me.”

And there’s Trixie with a joke that’s actually not a joke, shattering Katya.

“You said you were scared,” she says, instead of _I’m sorry I love you you’re my heart_.

She feels Trixie move next to her, and Violet slowly joins her at her other side, like a pair of parentheses with a question mark in the middle. Which isn’t particularly grammatically correct, but Katya doesn’t care about that right now.

“I’m scared that you’re going to run,” he says, and Katya knows that it’s directed at her. “And I’m scared that _you’re_ ,” and this is directed at Violet, Katya figures, “going to get bored. And I don’t, I’m not good at not getting invested. I’m invested. In this. And that’s scary.”

“I’m scared too,” Violet adds quietly.

“Well, I’m glad we’ve established that we’re all fucking terrified,” Katya groans and Violet hits her.

“Stop ruining my moment of vulnerability.”

“Showing the judges vulnerability. Michelle would be so proud,” Trixie adds, and Katya laughs at the absurdity of this all, at how much she fucking _likes_ them.

“I’m scared because you’re both fucking idiots,” Violet continues, ignoring Trixie. “You’re both fucking idiots but I like you both. And I’m not saying this is something we should, like, label, at least yet, and labels are fucking dumb. But I want to…” they soften at that. “I want to get to know you. Properly.”

Katya rests her head on her arms where they’re draped across the railing.

“I think I know what I want, but I don’t know how to articulate it.”

“Tell us what you want,” Violet says bluntly.

And that’s the question, isn’t it? Deep down, Katya knows that there’s no coming back from this, not really. There’s no more casual fucking of Violet, no slipping back into being best friends and nothing else with Trixie. There’s one path, really, glowing and golden ahead of her.

“The last few days…I mean, it’s weird. I can’t be the only one who thinks it’s weird, right? Because it is.” She takes a deep breath, a shaky one. Trixie and Violet bracket her in, two pillars of strength and loveliness. 

“I don’t know if I can…if I can give, fully. I don’t know if I’m there right away because I love you both, and not necessarily in the I’m in love with you way, I don’t think, not right now, but in the ‘I like you both a lot’, way, but I don’t know if that’s good enough. Is that good enough? Because I can’t, I can’t, like, promise I won’t freak out about this. This is a lot. You’re both a lot.”

The LA air is heavy and oppressive. Katya hates confessions. They leave her throat dry and raw, and her eyes burning.

When Violet speaks, their voice is low and heavy.

"You told me once that you don't like happy endings and I never got it till just now. You don't like happy endings because you don't believe in them. You can't ever see yourself having one."

Katya remembers that night. Violet had been drunk and hanging off her. “Let’s watch a movie,” they said in her ear. “Like, porn?” She’d asked, grinning. Violet rolled their eyes. “No, loser, like a movie movie.”

Katya shrugged. “Fine. But no cheesy shit. No, like, kisses in the rain and dramatic confessions of love.”

Violet pouted. “Why not?”

“Because they’re fake. They’re not real. Like, all that bullshit about changing for someone. About doing better. It’s not real. You can’t just say, ooh I’m going to be a better person for you. Ooh, I’m going to make us work, despite my glaring personality flaws. There’s nothing joyful about that, it’s just…depressing. I like my endings hopefully ambiguous.”

“I’ll give you a hopefully ambiguous ending,” Violet had whispered in her ear. They didn’t end up watching a movie.

And isn't this funny, how she knows Violet's body and Trixie's mind and not the other way around. Because the thing is, Katya's always found Violet enthralling and intriguing. Violet's always felt inevitable in a different way to Trixie. She's always felt destructive. But Katya was wrong, is wrong. It's self-destruction, her old friend, and she chuckles darkly.

"You're right," she sighs, defeated, because she is. And maybe that's not a bad thing. "You're right and I've been wrong and I'm...I'm not sorry because sorry is the wrong word but, I guess, the thing is -" She pauses.

Trixie's eyes are hard and curious, Violet's soft and probing. Katya swallows.

"I want to know you both," she whispers. "And I want you to know me."

This isn't going to be easy, she thinks. But just maybe, it'll be worth it.

“I think we should make a pact,” Trixie suggests, voice thick. “No running away. Literally, or metaphorically.”

“Okay. But sometimes running away is necessary. I think, maybe, the pact should be that running away is only allowed on the condition of return.” Katya replies gently. She can’t promise everything right now, she has limits. But then she grins, big and bright and real. “But on one condition. I think the binding element of this pact should be sex.” 

“How on brand,” Violet mutters, but Katya feels the smile in it. She realises she hasn’t looked at either of them properly the whole time except for fleeting glances, and walks away from the balcony to stare at them. Trixie’s golden, but so’s Violet. Trixie’s all hard lines and soft face, gentle hands and strong arms that Katya wants to feel around her. He’s heartburn in the light, he’s the perfect man and he’s _hers_. He’s smiling at her, a soft thank you. Katya loves him. 

Violet is languid and easy, slouched and precious. They’re biting and funny and soft. Their face is twisted gently into the shadow of a smile that Katya recognises as being for her, a smile that Katya has seen in the dark of the night. In the afternoon sun, it’s almost blinding. Katya loves them.

“I like you both a lot,” she says, still grinning. It’s stupid, but it’s true. They want her, and she wants to cry with the knowledge. They want her and they know her, they know her fucked up bits, and she knows theirs. She’s going to learn theirs.

“Is this going to be real feelings sex?” Trixie asks, smiling at her lopsidedly.

“Oh, honey. This is going to be the most feelingsy feelings sex you’ve ever experienced. This is going to be like, Mills and Boon. Straight women cum thinking about the sort of sex we’re going to have.”

“You know, Kat,” Violet says, still smiling, but stalking towards her with Intensity and Purpose, so much so that Katya’s internal monologue feels the need to capitalise them. “Those are fighting words. D’you really think you’re going to be able to match them?”

Instead of answering, Katya kisses them. Softly, once, an apology and a promise. Violet breaks away, and their gaze is soft like freshly mown grass, like sitting under a sprinkler on a hot day and watching rainbows appear from water, like sinking into a pillow when you’re tired and it’s light. Violet’s a fucking moon and Trixie’s a sun and Katya’s the whole sky, swallowing them both whole and preserving them.

Trixie’s moved up behind them, and Katya strokes his cheek. Katya’s heart is so fucking full, and she looks at him and tries to tell him that. His eyes are crinkly, and Katya wants to kiss his crows feet. She does.

And then she leads them, a third time, and they kiss in Trixie’s kitchen. The geometry of fitting three mouths together at once is complex and ridiculous and Katya laughs. She laughs, and then she drags them both to the bedroom.

“Trixie, I wanna fuck you. And I want you to suck Violet off,” Katya instructs. Violet’s hard, stroking themself slowly, and Katya’s suddenly grateful for the state of semi-nakedness they seem to keep finding themselves in.

“I feel like Willam,” Trixie grins, but he tugs his boxers off and crawls onto the bed. Violet’s produced lube from somewhere (ever practical, Katya thinks), and tosses it to him. There’s something so upsettingly hot about watching Trixie finger himself slowly, and knowing that she’s going to be in him. It’s even hotter to watch Violet crawl up behind him, kiss his shoulder, and finger him instead. 

“Kat, I’m ready.” His voice is breathy and needy, head tipped back onto Violet’s shoulder.

“Still so needy,” Violet mutters, smirking.

“You love it,” Trixie gasps as Violet adds a third finger.

“I do,” Violet says, simply, withdrawing their fingers and wiping them on their thigh as Trixie groans.

This is it, really, the pure joy and fear of seeing the two people she loves most in the world being like this together. _You’re part of this too_ , Katya reminds herself. Trixie and Violet are so fucking similar. It’s a nightmare, logistically. Katya grins, shucks her boxers and makes her way onto the bed.

“Hands and knees,” she instructs, and Trixie obliges. She slips on a condom, kissing Violet as she does so.

Actually fucking Trixie seems monumental. Feels it too as she slides into him, presses her hands against his sweaty back and looks at Violet, who’s stroking themself faster now.

She pushes fully in Trixie, slightly overwhelmed by both the physical feeling and the sheer fact. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined this before, late at night, or during filming. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t scared of this, of the fact that everything will be different after this. There’s a difference, she thinks, between friendly handjobs and this, this intimacy.

“Katya, move,” Trixie whines.

“Bossy,” she tuts, and Violet laughs silently. She obliges, however, and Trixie feels fucking good, and she can’t help but speed up. Trixie makes sounds that Katya wants as her text tone, little moans and whimpers and pleases and broken “ _Katya’s_ ” that Katya thinks might be the official prayer of the church-of-Trixie-and-Violet. She thrusts forward and catches Violets lips in her own. 

“Touch me,” Trixie pleads, and she reaches down to jerk him off, Violet’s lips still on her own, tongue probing and curious.

When Trixie comes, it’s with a strangled cry that goes right to her dick. She finishes a few thrusts later, and pulls out of him gently. Violet raises an eyebrow at her, and gestures to their own still hard dick. 

Jesus, these two are going to be the death of her.

Before she can do anything, Trixie takes Violet into his mouth. Katya commits herself to memorising the physical expression of Violet’s pleasure. She’s seen it before, recognises the bitten lip and the way their hands go straight to Trixie’s short hair, nails unable to find purchase. She recognises the moment before Violet comes, and Trixie swallows.

Trixie pulls back, wiping a hand across his face and smiling softly.

“That was fun. I’d like to do it again sometime.”

Violet elbows him, and collapses onto their back, beckoning for Trixie and Katya to join them. Trixie lies down next to them, pressing his head into their neck. Katya wants to know what that feels like, the soft brush of Trixie’s shorn hair. She has time, she realises. They want this too, she reminds herself. Violet notices her hesitation, and pulls her down on top of the two of them.

“For the record, in any future mornings slash afternoons after, I like being in the middle,” they inform the room at large. “I’m willing to make an exception this time.” 

Katya burrows down into the gap between them. Violet presses a kiss to her forehead, while Trixie presses one to her neck.

“Thank you,” she whispers quietly.

Even in the bask of the afterglow, she knows this isn’t going to be easy, no matter what this is. There’re schedules and touring and fans and filming and also the fact that they’re real human people with flaws and lives and unlovable bits. But when Katya closes her eyes and thinks about love, she thinks about kind eyes and gentle hands, long limbs and golden torsos, about loud laughs and bitchy asides. She thinks about two faces, and the lines on them that she wants to befriend.

It’s not a happy ending, but, maybe, it’s a hopeful beginning.

And as the golden light from the window casts shadows over their bodies, Katya feels Trixie and Violet glow.

She glows, too.


End file.
